


Outside Interference

by Anonymous



Category: Komatta Toki ni wa Hoshi ni Kike!
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-12
Updated: 2011-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some creepy bastard had drugged him, tied him up and kidnapped him to an over done frilly girl's room, Kiyomine was never going to let him forget it, and there was a photograph of his mother on the wall (note the creepy bastard thing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Takara finally woke up, he'd already been missing for more then a day.

The room swam dizzily before his eyes before snapping into focus as he struggled to sit up, but what little light there was, was thankfully dim. He was in a bed – a wide four poster one with lacy bedspread and bed hangings like something out of an English furniture catalogue or museum. 

There was long hair straggling over his face and cascading over his shoulders. He had the crazy thought that perhaps he'd been sleeping for years for it to grow to that length, before he dislodged the wig by rubbing at his aching head. A wig...he'd been at a Y'S.Y shoot, that much he remembered. In fact, he was still wearing the last outfit of the shoot, an uncomfortably short frilly little number with a puffed skirt. They'd stuffed him into it, ignoring his protests as usual, and on top of that, forced him into _gartered stockings and high heels._ He’d nearly killed himself trying to catch his balance after Yukari-san had pushed him out into position.He was still wearing those cursed ( _also_ frilly!) garters, but the high heels were gone. 

Frills. He wasn’t the only frill adorned thing in the room; in fact he completely matched the décor. The whole room looked like some bizarre tribute to frills, lace and embroidery; every stick of furniture – bed, chairs, table, lamps, wardrobe – was worked with embellished white fabric of some kind. Even the walls were covered with cream and gold wallpaper where they weren’t panelled. Even the painting hanging on the far wall from the bed was in a hideously ornate frame – it didn’t suit the painting at-

…all…

….The painting….

The _photograph._ It was of a woman; she had her hands clasped as if in prayer, but she was smiling through tears, with her eyes closed. It was a smile more beautiful, more pure then anything else in this world, but that was only natural - she _was_ so very beautiful, and she had always smiled like that and Takara knew that smile; a very long time ago he had woken up to that very loving smile everyday.

It was a photograph of his mother.

He slid back the bedcovers and jumped to his feet without realizing it – his legs buckled, the room spun and his vision blacked out for a few dreadful seconds, forcing him to grab hold of one of the bed posts and sit back down. There was a foul taste in his mouth, now that he thought about it; like the worst bad breath in the world overlaid with something dryly bitter. It made him remember in a dull vague way. It had been dark, except for bright lines of light at the extreme top and bottom of his vision – no, he had been _blindfolded_ while someone had forced his mouth open, pinched his nose painfully shut, and poured something bitter with medicine down his throat. Someone had been saying _“I’m so sorry for this Fujishima-kun, it’s only for a little while longer”_ soft and regretful before Takara had lost whatever tenuous hold of consciousness he’d had. In fact, he hadn’t been just _blindfolded_ and _drugged;_ some bastard had also _tied him up_. There were red raw marks around his wrists and ankles where the bindings had rubbed through his stockings. 

It wasn’t like Takara was a genius _,_ but he didn’t need to be one to deduce he’d been kidnapped at this stage. 

Kiyomine was going to have a field day with this.

Takara was never going to hear the end of it. That bastard still went on about rescuing him from Touya’s old ‘friend’ when he was particularly annoyed, and that had happened more then _three years ago_ now. And Takara couldn’t even use the time Kiyomine himself had been kidnapped, since Kiyomine would simply stare at him and say something like _who was it who tried to save someone but just ended up being kidnapped as well, and having to be saved from falling off rooftops trying to save stupid girls_ to which Takara had no reply at all, other then _she was your cousin_ but somehow that wasn’t very convincing. Honestly, what with the way Kiyomine twisted everything that had happened, and everything Takara said to Kiyomine’s own advantage, Takara should have known he’d go into law. 

So. Some creepy bastard had drugged him, tied him up and kidnapped him to an over done frilly girl’s room, Kiyomine was never going to let him forget it, and there was a photograph of his mother on the wall (note the creepy bastard thing.) He had never even seen that particular photograph before, which wasn’t terribly surprising with his old man burning every single photograph he had of Takara’s mother. Sometimes he wished his old man had left him a few at least, but burning them was definitely a better alternative then having some stranger with photos of his mother. It was just… _creepy._

He was suddenly, profoundly aware that people said he looked quite a bit like his mother. Also, whoever the _bastard_ was who had kidnapped him, they knew his name if his fuzzy memories were correct. It was a sick feeling, one that made his empty stomach clench in on itself and roil with acid, much like the feeling he got when perverts tried to touch him. Only it was worse, because he could normally bash up the perverts, but the pervert in question this time had him helpless.

No. That was ridiculous – he was awake, and untied now – even if he was captured, he was by no means helpless. He climbed unsteadily to his feet.

The room had been roughly divided into two sections – one section held the bed and wardrobe, before the walls extended in slightly, creating a very large open doorway that led to the other section. A table and two chairs, and the framed photograph were in that section; and as Takara wobbled his way into it, he saw two doors on the walls that had previously been hidden from his view. One was locked, with a massive brushed steel lock – it was at distinct odds to the delicate old fashioned air of the rest of room. The door itself resisted all his half-hearted attempts to shoulder it open. The other door led to the bathroom, which was empty of anything useful for escape. He didn’t think he’d be threatening anyone with a toothbrush.

There were no windows. 

However, there was still a musty chill to the air – there had been a wardrobe in the other section. Maybe he could at least find something more decent to wear…

He made his way back to the wardrobe, and swung the ornately carved heavy doors open. Yukari-san’s most recently released line of Y’S.Y’s girls’ side fashion greeted him. While the frills of the just developed set he was wearing were absent, the clothes inside were nothing but bows and lace with not a single pair of pants in sight. He groaned. This, he felt, was just insult to injury. 

He had just closed the wardrobe door, when there was a soft beep from the other side of the room, and the distinct _click_ of an unlocked door opening.


	2. Chapter 2

_November 9 th, 2:00 a.m:_

Kiyomine flinched. “Shorty, your feet are _cold_.”

Takara smirked, deftly stole more of the bed covers, and stuck his feet back between Kiyomine’s ankles. His toes brushed against Kiyomine’s feet. “Yours aren’t though, Kiyomine.”

He gave up. “I’m turning the lights off now.”

“Un.”

_Click._ In the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, Takara was painted in washed out shades of blue and black and the white gleam of skin, close but still too far away. It was only after he settled himself back around the shorty that Kiyomine finally relaxed. He breathed in the clean scent of soap and shampoo, and the warmth of the smaller body in his arms.

“Ne, Kiyomine?”

“What?”

“Did you have a good birthday?”

He smiled into Takara’s hair. “Yeah. Ayako really went all out this year.”

“I helped _too._ ” Takara huffed, and rolled over to face him, in a rustle of covers and an incidental kick to the shins.

“Ow.” He pulled the damn shorty closer in retaliation, crushing him against his chest, and ignored the squawk this treatment provoked. “Yes, yes, _thank you I’m so---- grateful.”_

“Gragh!”

After an elbow to the ribs, he let the shorty back up for air.

Takara scowled up at him. “Was that really necessary?” he grumbled.

Kiyomine considered it.

“Definitely.”

“Gah!”

He was a little surprised when Takara didn’t turn around in a huff, but stayed facing him. Their faces were very close; so close that their hair was stirred with every breath. It tickled. But not enough to make him move away.

“It was fun though, wasn’t it?” Takara smiled. “Seeing everyone together; it was almost like being at school again. Ah! But I can’t believe that Nanase got a boyfriend!”

Kiyomine smirked. “Funny seeing you and Takayama gang up on him though.”

“Ha. I’m not going to give Nanase away to someone who’s scared off that easily.” He frowned, and wriggled a little, before settling his head quite unselfconsciously against Kiyomine’s shoulder. “I feel like Nanase’s growing up and leaving us behind though.”

“Wasn’t it you who said something along the lines of she and Takayama are your only ‘precious childhood friends?’”

“Well, yes, but-”

“That’s still true, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but…It’s just…” The furrow between his brows deepened. At some point, he had clutched hold of Kiyomine’s pajama shirt. “I don’t really get it…having a ‘boyfriend’ or a ‘girlfriend’ or stuff like that…Even though we’re not teenagers anymore, and we’ve supposed to have figured out all that sort of stuff, I still don’t…”

Kiyomine sighed. The shorty was so _predictable_ about this sort of thing. But he couldn’t resist. “Sex stuff, do you mean?”

It wasn’t really possible to see colour in the dim light, but it was fairly obvious Takara was blushing furiously, and he had two fists in Kiyomine’s shirt now. “Kiyomine! You-”

“Well, we did skip that Health class. And I doubt your shitty old man ever thought about explaining. Do you need me to explain?”

“You-! My old man _did_ and it was excruti-!” A deep breath. “…You know that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?” He fixed his gaze on the shorty’s face, and tracked the way his eyelashes trembled when he lowered his eyes. If only the light was still on, he would be able to see the way that the blush would spread from Takara’s cheeks to his ears and down his neck past his collar.

“I- You- argh, just forget it!”

He grunted slightly as Takara buried his face against Kiyomine’s chest, his hands still clenched into Kiyomine’s shirt front.

He’d had sex for the first time when he was fourteen, so desperate to ‘grow up,’ to catch up to Ayako that he hadn’t really thought that his age mattered at all. He hadn’t looked fourteen, and certainly most of the women he’d slept with never realized his actual age. After a while, sex had been nothing. If he was hungry, he ate.

It was different now. He’d gotten Takara into his bed in first year – kissed him for the first time that year too. They’d slept in the same bed almost every night ever since, ( _except for six long terrible months)_ and he still occasionally surprised the shorty with something slightly inappropriate every now and again – it was good to keep him on his toes, and amusing to watch his reactions besides.

But at some point he’d stopped pushing in earnest – Takara simply wasn’t ready. As impatient as it made him sometimes – just how _long_ would it take the damn shorty? - sex wasn’t worth Takara shying away from his every touch like he did with almost every other damn male. (But not _all_ , unfortunately. His shitty old man was one thing, although even that was…But why the hell was the shorty so damn touchy-feely with Yoshiya and Nitta?) But sex wasn’t worth everything he’d won from Takara, lying trustingly in his arms. Besides, he’d be damned if he was as obvious as Aritomo. It wasn’t worth it. Really.

“Kiyomine?”

“Ah?” was all Kiyomine had time to say blankly, before Takara’s grip on his shirt had shifted to the collar, and he had pulled Kiyomine’s head down, while tilting his own face up and he was- well. It was tentative and soft and _barely there_ , but he was pretty sure the shorty was actually _trying to kiss him._ There was no time to recover from the shock of it before Takara had pulled back.

“Uh,” and Takara’s eyes were a little wide, and he licked his lips. “Um. Good-night, Kiyomine.”

And then the damn shorty had the _nerve_ to roll over as if he was really going to go to sleep after that!

“You- you _damn shorty – four years of waiting_ and you think that’ll satisfy me!?”

The yelp that Takara made when Kiyomine tossed him onto his back was entirely agreeable – even better was the startled “mmph!” as he grasped Takara’s face between his hands and bent down to show him ( _again)_ just what a proper kiss should be. Even better was when Takara let his mouth be coaxed open. Even better was when he pressed upwards (albeit, again, a little tentatively, trembling) against Kiyomine, and those deceptively thin arms reached up and clasped around Kiyomine with wiry strength. It was an irresistible invitation. He knew he was probably moving too fast – _making up for four years worth –_ but he simply couldn’t resist pressing the kiss harder, deeper until they were both panting, and then nuzzling his way down Takara’s neck, down past the sharp definition of the collar bones (and he really had to make sure Takara ate more), to push apart the buttons of Takara’s pajama top and-

“Ki- _Kiyomine!”_ Takara’s hands were pulling quite insistently – and painfully – against his hair, but what really stopped Kiyomine cold was the way Takara’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his face turned away to one side. His lips were still parted (the better to attempt to breathe with, Kiyomine suspected) and they looked slightly bruised, swollen from the kissing. He wanted to kiss them again.

“Shorty,” was all he said softly. He rested his forehead lightly against Takara’s. “Shorty.”

His eyes opening painfully slowly, Takara turned his face back to Kiyomine again. Their noses bumped along the way, startling a quick burst of laughter from the both of them.

“Four years, Kiyomine?” Takara was smiling up at him, fingers winding back into Kiyomine’s hair, and of _course_ he hadn’t been afraid of Kiyomine – the stupid shorty had never been afraid of Kiyomine from the very start. “Were you really waiting that long so patiently?”

“That’s right,” Kiyomine growled. “Because you’re so damn dense.”

“But you know, you didn’t help- _you!”_

Hickies, Kiyomine knew from experience, would stand out excellently for at least two days against Takara’s pale skin. “You’re so noisy, even now,” he pointed out, before cutting off any denials with a kiss. He was careful to keep it lighter, more leisurely. It was alright. They had time. He had waited this long and could wait a little longer, and this gentler touching was almost as fulfilling in its own way, although he wanted – he wanted to bare that juncture of shoulder and neck further. He wanted to feel the long smooth muscles that wrapped around the shorty’s back, the angles of his shoulder blades, the pattern of his ribs. He wanted to slide those ridiculous plaid pajama pants down the shorty’s narrow hips, and find out just how much he was enjoying Kiyomine touching him like this and-

“Kiyomine,” and the shorty was pulling away, and then pushing up against him in a manner that really didn’t encourage stopping, laughing a little helplessly. “Kiyomine, you’re _heavy,_ and my legs have gone to sleep.”

“You really know how to break the mood, don’t you?” he grumbled half-heartedly, but he supposed he had been putting his full weight down on the shorty for a little while now.

“I can’t help it – I’ve got really bad pins and needles now!”

“Hn.” He sat up, flinging the covers back. The rush of cool night air into the space between them helped a little.

Takara winced, drew his legs up, and groaned. “This _kills,”_ he complained. “Next time Kiyomine, either you learn to not put your entire weight on me, or I go on top of you.” He rubbed his left foot vigorously, making faces.

“Shorty, you-” Kiyomine paused, mouth open, and then closed it with a decisive click. Really, it was _typical_ of the damn shorty to go from not being able to take a kiss to complaining about positioning. “Next time,” he agreed instead. He drew Takara’s right foot into his lap, and ran his fingers firmly down the arch, rubbing his thumbs in reassuring circles.

“Ah- ow… no, don’t stop,” Takara moaned, and Kiyomine smirked.

“Are you listening to what you’re saying, shorty?” he remarked.

“Shut up and keep rubbing,” Takara muttered, and stretched his toes luxuriously.

He laughed silently, and lifted Takara’s leg, flexed it a little. He pressed a kiss against the tender curve between tendon and ankle bone – Takara made a small startled sound of what might have been pleasure. He was watching Kiyomine with dark eyes, and wasn’t moving away at all. The sound of the clock’s numbers flipping over to mark time was suddenly very loud in the silence between them.

“It’s almost three already,” Takara said a little breathlessly. “ And I have an early shoot tomorrow. Yukari-san will have my head if I’m late. Kiyomine, don’t you have a morning class tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Kiyomine agreed. That was why they hadn’t stayed out later for his birthday. He let go reluctantly.

He drew the covers back over them, and the shorty settled back comfortably into his arms. After what they had been doing, Kiyomine didn’t think either of them would be able to calm down enough to sleep, yet somehow he felt a lot more at ease than he had for a long time. Sleep came quickly.

* * *

_November 9 th, 7:22 a.m:_

He woke to bright sunlight, and the sounds of someone trying to be quiet. (And failing.)

“Shorty?” he said blearily, cracking open an eye.

“Ah!” Takara turned guiltily his way, one hand coming up to catch the piece of toast he’d had hanging out his mouth. His bag lolled open, half-packed behind him. “Sorry Kiyomine, did I wake you?”

He grunted wordlessly, and let his eye slide back shut, leaving it to the shorty to decide if that was yes or no.

“Sorry, Kiyomine. I’m leaving now.”

He opened his eyes again. “You want me to go with you to the station?”

“Don’t be silly. Go back to sleep.” Takara smiled, disgustingly cheerful for this time of the morning. “I’ll be back around six. What about you?”

“Probably around seven. I don’t know about dinner yet though; stupid Masaya said that there might be something.”

“Maybe he’ll take us to Chinatown!” Glee. Far too early for Kiyomine to muster the willpower needed to give that sort of delight at the thought of eating with his brother an appropriate reply.

He settled for “Mmph.”

“Well then, I’m off!”

He waved in reply. The front door slammed.

He rolled over to Takara’s side of the bed. The sheets were cool.

* * *

_to: hosaka@jpbox.co.jp_  
_from:shorty  
11/9/XX 16:12_  
_Kiyomine, are we going to Chinatown tonight!?_

_to: takaramono17@softbank.ne.jp_  
_from: kiyomine_  
_11/9/XX 16:24_  
_Stupid Masaya said something came up, and his “abject apologies to Fujishima-kun.” No mention of any trouble to //me//, naturally. Damn Masaya._

_to: hosaka@jpbox.co.jp_  
_from:shorty_  
_11/9/XX 16:29_  
_Awww, do you feel neglected Kiyomine? What shall I get you for dinner~? ♥_

_to: takaramono17@softbank.ne.jp_  
_from: kiyomine_  
_11/9/XX 16:29_  
_KATSUDON._

_to: hosaka@jpbox.co.jp_  
_from:shorty_  
_11/9/XX 16:34_  
_Che, should have known. Aaah, so annoying! This stupid frilly dress, but at least it has a pocket for a cell phone. And I tripped over in these high heels, and Naganuma-san laughed so hard he almost didn’t catch me. D <._

_to: takaramono17@softbank.ne.jp_  
_from: kiyomine_  
_11/9/XX 16:36_  
_Tell that shitty old man to keep his hands to himself. Shouldn’t you be used to high heels by now? You’ve worn them enough._

_to: hosaka@jpbox.co.jp_  
_from:shorty_  
_11/9/XX 16:38_  
_SHUT UP. DDD <<<<<_

_to: takaramono17@softbank.ne.jp_  
_from: kiyomine_  
_11/9/XX 16:41_  
_What? It’s the simple truth._

_to: hosaka@jpbox.co.jp_  
_from:shorty_  
_11/9/XX 16:45_  
_Hosaka-kun~~~ The two of you are very sweet, but you shouldn’t be distracting Fujishima-kun while he’s working neee---? You can’t blame me if he has to work overtime to make it up~ Study hard~ and I expect you bright and early at the studio this weekend~~ ♥♥♥ Yukarin *chuu*_

* * *

_November 9 th, 7:17 p.m_

He opened the door. The lights weren’t on.

“Shorty?”


	3. Chapter 3

There was no time for any kind of dissemblation - he was clearly visible from the doorway. He only had time to swing around and clench his fists as the door swung open, and a shadowed figure shuffled through. It paused at the sight of him. 

“You’re awake, Fujishima-kun?...Um, I hope the medication didn’t affect you too badly…”

There were many things he wanted to say in reply to that hesitant, very polite voice (and it was oddly muffled too) but there was something like a traffic jam in his brain between ‘You SICK BASTARD’ or ‘YOU’RE GOING TO BE SORRY FOR THIS’ and other like wrath-filled statements. There was also the sneaking thought of ‘Please let me go and I won’t care about any medication – what medication?’ but he quashed that firmly. Then his kidnapper moved forward into visibility. He was so startled that the first thing he said (incredulously) to his kidnapper was:

“Are you wearing a _stocking_ on your head? That looks really fucking stupid, you know.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Ah,” his kidnapper said almost apologetically. “I know, but it would cause some difficulty if Fujishima-kun were to see my face?” He set down the tray he was holding with a quiet click on the table. “I don’t know if you’re hungry, but I brought some food and…”

He fought his initial reaction – _haven’t you heard of balaclavas? Masks? –_ and scrambled for a more appropriate reply. “Why would I eat anything _you_ bring? You’re probably going to drug me again!”

“Oh!” Another pause. “Uh, I guess I could eat some to prove that it isn’t? I-I’m terribly sorry about drugging you, it’s just that there wasn’t- I- er, see, I’m eating some?”

He watched, utterly stupefied, as his kidnapper hastily took off the stocking on his head, and ate a small bite of the pasta on the tray. Had he been kidnapped by an _utter moron?_

His kidnapper stopped mid-bite. He looked at the stocking in his hand, and then at Takara’s expression of staring disbelief. “Oh! …Oh no.”

He’d been kidnapped by an utter moron.

“Uh- uh- um!” his kidnapper was looking around a little panickedly. He was a very ordinary looking man, maybe in his late twenties, early thirties, as unassuming and humble looking as his diffident way of speaking. He actually reminded Takara a little of Kikuchi – the same timid air.

That really pissed him off for some reason.

“YOU SICK BASTARD!” he yelled, and there, that traffic jam had finally worked itself out. “WHO THE HELL KIDNAPS SOMEONE AND THEN SPEAKS IN HUMBLE FORM?*”

And then he was dashing past his would-be kidnapper, and if he happened to knock the sick bastard down and kick him on the way, he was pretty sure not even his grandma could fault him in these circumstances. The door was still slightly ajar – he snatched it open, and fled down the corridor in time to the adrenalin driven pounding of his heart to-

Another door. With another big shiny lock on it.

“-jishima-kun, please wait, you can’t go anywhere-”

He spun, and put up his fists. His kidnapper was leaning against the other door, wheezing slightly – it was pathetic. 

“-please, I just wanted to talk to you-“

He bared his teeth. “Fine. Talk!”

* * *

“…ah, he had glasses, and light-coloured hair…”

_“You kidnapped me because you want me to go out with Okuno-senpai!?”_

“N-n-no, that’s not quite what I meant…It’s just that don’t you think… I-I don’t even know who he is really but...he looked gentle, and I saw the two of you together one time and…and you looked happy… wouldn’t someone like that be more suited to you?”

What wouldn’t suit him very well was being murdered by Kashiwagi-senpai. “What the hell do you mean by _that?_ ”

His captor gulped. “Um…It’s just that….your…’friend’ Hosaka…”

“What about Kiyomine!?”

“Well, um…He’s a pretty big guy…and they say he’s a boxer…”

“Yeah, what about it!?” 

Takara’s irritation was rising with every faltering sentence. His kidnapper seemed to sense it, and took a deep breath, obviously stealing himself to finally just _say_ whatever he was out to say.

“It’s just- well, I’ve seen you with him- and you’re a lot smaller than he is, and the way he knocks you around even in public is-.”

“ _What!?”_

“Can you honestly say he’s never hit you!?”

Takara blinked. There was a sudden resolve in the kidnapper’s voice, and Takara’s hands weren’t the only ones being clenched.

“You can’t, can you?” The other man’s face was very earnest, his eyes dark. 

Unaccountably, Takara felt something like shame, and averted his gaze. “Only a few times,” he muttered. “And I’ve hit him before, too.”

“Can’t you see that that’s wrong, Fujishima-kun? He shouldn’t try to hurt you-”

“It’s not _like that,_ ” Takara burst out impatiently. “Kiyomine would _never_ hurt me.”

“Then why does he hit you?”

“He _doesn’t_ – it was only- it was a long time ago! …Anyway it’s not like I’m a _girl.”_ Too late, he realized his kidnapper might not have known that. He was sitting there in a dress after all. Would it be any better if his kidnapper did think he was a girl?

“That doesn’t matter!” his captor said indignantly. “Fujishima-kun, you’re smaller and weaker than he is, and you’re _not_ a boxer, so he shouldn’t be hitting you! You shouldn’t stay with him!” 

“You don’t understand.”

Even as he said the words, he could feel the futility of them. It _had_ been a long time ago, and Takara had the feeling that fighting had been one of the few ways Kiyomine had communicated by back then anyway. He didn’t get into fights (outside of the boxing ring anyway) nearly as often now. And if Kiyomine ‘knocked him around’, it was done teasingly, affectionately, and especially since he’d gone pro at boxing, with the awareness of their differing strengths. It pissed Takara off sometimes. _Excuse_ him for being short, and sort of scrawny, and with a girly face!

“Look,” his kidnapper said, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t expect you to believe me or anything, but I kidnapped you so you could…um…have some time to…uh…think things over. I mean…um, they say people in abusive relationships have stuff like Battered Woma- er, Person’s Syndrome, and Stockholm Syndrome and-”

Takara’s precarious hold on his temper promptly snapped at that. He could feel a vein throbbing alarmingly in his forehead. “ _I’m not a girl,”_ he hissed, “and as for Stockholm Syndrome, you’re the one who’s kidnapped me!”

But his kidnapper only replied with a vaguely pitying look that made Takara grind his teeth in frustration, and continued as if Takara hadn’t said anything at all. “-capture-bond type things. Please, Fujishima-kun, won’t you just think about things a little? I’ll leave you to think and eat your meal in peace. There really isn’t anything in it.”

Hopelessly, Takara watched him slip out the door. He shouldn’t have come back docilely into this room to ‘talk’ he should’ve beat the other guy into a bloody pulp to get the access code for the other door out of him while he had the advantage of surprise and-

“WHAT THE HELL DOES IT HAVE TO DO WITH YOU, ANYWAY? BASTARD,” he yelled at the closed door belatedly. Frustrated tears pricked his eyes, but he had no time for tears now, and he’d be damned if he’d cry somewhere where his kidnapper might still be able to see him. 

He took a calming breath, and pressed his hand hard against his eyelids. _Kiyomine,_ was all he could think. _Kiyomine, Kiyomine._ They had been together just that morning – had it been that morning? How long had he been unconscious for anyway? – and he was supposed to pick up katsudon for dinner, and what would Kiyomine think when he didn’t come home? That stupid man- he didn’t understand at all. Kiyomine was- Kiyomine was-

He clenched his other hand into his skirt, and then stilled. Hidden in an inside pocket - “ _Specially designed so even a large mobile phone won’t hamper the purity of the lines of one’s outfit!”_ Yukari-san cackled inside his head – hidden inside the ruffles and frills of the skirt was his cell phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This is probably quite fan japanese wankery of me, and I probably should change it to something like "WHO THE HELL KIDNAPS SOMEONE AND ACTS SO POLITE" but uh, for those of you who don't know, japanese has varying levels of politeness used, and part of it is not only do you use honorific speech for what other people do, you use humble speech for what you do, and together they make you sound very polite. Kidnapper-guy just happened to be using humble speech pretty much constantly in my head, so yeah. Fan-wankery, it happens to us all.


End file.
